The Crazy (Golf) Story – Bentley 19

[For back story go here: Story so far at 27 July 2020 and more recent Bentley posts.]

[See especially the last one.]

“Many years ago, during a long hot summer in Brighton, you told me in no uncertain terms to go out and find a job. I won’t ask if you remember that – if you still have any marbles about you you’ll remember having that conversation a great many times. Every year from when I was fourteen until – well, until I disappeared from your life – you were on at me to get a job. And not just for holiday time either.

“Anyway that year I was having more of a problem than usual to get something. I didn’t want to work in a cafe, I drank too much to work in a bar and shops? Well, too many tourists for my liking. I couldn’t be nice for that long. 

“Long story short, you found me the job that year didn’t you? You got me working on the sea front. Crazy golf course. Cos your mate knew the guy who ran it and that was that. Except it wasn’t you know? Your mate started getting complaints. The guy who ran the crazy golf course said I was lazy, said I didn’t turn up on time and that I always tried to leave early. Said I didn’t take the right money, lost too many golf balls and that I purposefully – purposefully – rigged the last hole so too many people got the trick shot right, scored the hole, rang the bell and got a free go round the course again.

“All of it lies. All of it. How could I lose other people’s golf balls when I spent most of my time in that ridiculous little wooden hut he called the headquarters? Sat there taking money and doling out the balls and clubs? And how can anyone rig the ‘ring the bell for a free game’ final hole? It’s a self-contained unit, fully automated and not even an electricity supply. The only thing you can do with it is take the balls out. Christ, the only thing I could do at that place that was slightly bad was pull the electric. That wouldn’t affect the final prize hole but the windmill on hole number 9 would stop and then you’d have heard the complaints up and down the seafront, I bet.”

“I don’t want to rush you or anything,” said Bentley, “but I’m not getting any younger and is there a point to this story?”

Lawrence got up from where he sat, but it was just to reach the sugar on the next door table in the cafe where they were sitting. He sat back and shovelled three teaspoons worth into his warm drink. 

“I could have got that for you,” commented Natalie from her side of the table.

“Thanks for the consideration but it’s nice to do stuff for yourself nowadays – when you can.

“The point is, I’m made out to be the bad guy, right? The rotten core at the heart of this whole crazy golf operation. And you know what? It’s just a front.”

“A sea front?” asked Bentley, hoping to crack a smile.

“Money laundering.”

Bentley scoffed his disbelief. “Jeremy Knowles! Jeremy Knowles – The King of the Holes? Money laundering? Don’t make me laugh. He couldn’t launder a pair of socks. And it’s a crazy golf course – not some casino – do you really expect everyone to believe he had access to thousands – millions – of pounds? You can’t launder from a pitch and putt, let alone…”

“High season, Brighton,” said Lawrence. “He’s a wealthy and attractive prospect. Does wonders for his love life. Reckon his ‘headquarters’ saw more than it’s fair share of action when...”

“Too much information,” said Bentley.

“Anyway it wasn’t Knowles who was doing it. He was fencing for Aston.”

Bentley’s eye twitched slightly. Lawrence saw it go. Natalie saw it go.

“Never heard of him,” said Bentley.

Lawrence spluttered his tea.

“He’s heard of you,” he said. 

“How do you know?” asked Bentley.

“Because he’s the one who had you abducted,” said Lawrence. “He sees you as an important person, clearly a central player within his – less than fragrant – world. He’s worried you’re getting too much power, too much influence. He thinks you’re gonna try and take his ground.”

“This is preposterous,” said Bentley. “What ground am I interested in? And why should you care?” 

“The answer to your first question is what we want to know from you. The answer to your second question is because I’m a detective inspector.”

“And Natalie’s a WPC don’t be ridic…”

“Yeah, I am.”

Bentley stared at Natalie. Bentley stared at Lawrence. 

“Beautiful,” said Bentley. “I’d believe it too were it not for just one thing.”

“And what’s that?” asked Lawrence.

“The crazy golf was in Hastings, not Brighton.”